Remember halls? The candles're burning.
The Blizzard sweeps on the field. Morning.
Four figures're sitting on a bench - crones.
Above the house, in the sky - crows.
Daytime. One of them says
About her old and immature days.
She was beautiful, sweet and spicy -
Now she's nobody, Now she's - nothing.
The second crone tells about fashion.
She tells, that youth - part of empty pleasure.
But the third is arguing. Above this debates,
Night hears the sound of the creaking gates.
The fourth is crying about God,
She wanted to find a Heaven ford,
But the sum is boring: she lived in vain
And never got other chance again.
Remember halls? No? But I remember:
The Blizzard sweeps and Night feels better.
The Moon laughs in the sky. Wench.
Abandoned house. And abandoned bench.